Quite Contrary
by dress without sleeves
Summary: Evy contemplates her feelings - er, that is contempt - for one Rick O'Connell. But not because she likes him or anything. Really. In fact, little jump her heart does at the side of him is just nausea. Stupid camels...[Vignette]


**Author's Notes:** Hmmm...not much to say. I've found that I am obsessed with The Mummy/The Mummy Returns, hence the two one-shots that I am posting. This piece was just to satisfy my need for fluff. After all, don't we all want a strong, handsome, sweet, slightly insane American soldier saving them from creepy undead mummies?

Hmm? Let me see a show of hands.

_**Quite Contrary**_

Oh, this is typical. This is just _so_ typical. Just my luck. The wonderful Sod's Law stepping in right on time. What _impeccable_ timing Murphy has!

A handsome and mysterious stranger . . . all right, a handsome and mysterious _criminal_ kisses me – my _first_ kiss, might I add. And how pathetic is that, at twenty-four years old? – and the only reason he did it was because it _seemed like a good idea at the time._

Lovely.

We all know what _that_ means. A dying man, in the spur of the moment, decides to have a last hurrah before he goes, and then in marches this mousy little librarian and her brother—oh, well, she's no raving beauty, but she's got two breasts, hasn't she?

_Honestly._ He is just so . . . _infuriating._

I mean, that's the reason this is such a big deal. After all, what right does he have to waltz into my life with all his I'm-_Sooooo_-Dashing-and-Brave-and-Heroic-and-I-Will-Lead-You-To-Your-Wildest-Dreams-In-A-Completely-Non-Sexual-Way-Although-I'm-Up-For-That-Too Glory? Hmm?

Rick O'Connell is the most arrogant, rude, _vulgar,_ pompous . . . wait, no, 'pompous' is a synonym for 'arrogant' . . . oh, whatever. He's arrogant twice, then! If we didn't need him to lead us to Hamunaptra, you can bet that I would make Jonathan get _rid_ of him!

. . . Not that Jonathan would be able to, because O'Connell is rather tall and _strong_ . . . but the point is, Jonathan could get people who could rid of him.

And yes, I mean it.

I have absolutely _no_ attachment to that Neanderthal whatsoever.

Really.

What do you mean, _romantic interest_? That's rubbish. Rick O'Connell is _not_ my type. My type is . . . well, all right, granted, I haven't had enough experience to determine quite _what_ my type is, but I'm pretty . . . no, absolutely sure that it is _not_ Rick O'Connell.

I mean, I guess I can _understand_ how some women might find the whole brave, kind in his own way, heroic, strong, handsome with eyes that are easy to drown in, arms that just make a body want to fall into them and burrow down so far that I . . . that is, one, can never find their way out again thing attractive, but me?

Nah.

Just because I can _understand_ doesn't mean I _agree_. I'd prefer someone who is a little more . . . that is, a little less . . . well, he'd have to have at _least_ . . . after all, O'Connell just . . . _my_ ideal guy would be a bit . . . at any rate, he'd be able to . . .

Anyway. This is a silly topic to discuss. I do _not_ fancy O'Connell, I have _no_ interest in him other than the fact that he is leading me to my life's goal, and furthermore, even if I _did_ have some sort of . . . attachment . . . to him – which I _don't_ – it wouldn't matter, because he _clearly_ has no romantic feelings for me.

'It seemed like a good idea at the time'? Who _says_ that?

But it's not like it matters that he doesn't. At all. Just as my nonexistent feelings don't matter to him. It's that simple.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Jonathan murmurs in my ear as he passes. I fix him with my perfected Death Glare – which, unsurprisingly, has no effect on him – and call him something that I really would rather not repeat.

"I didn't know a lady like you knew such _bad_ words." O'Connell's irritating, American accent sounds from behind me. I blow out air through my nose.

"Bastard," I mutter as I turn to face him. He raises an eyebrow.

"Did you kiss me with that mouth?" He asks, obviously enjoying my foul mood, and therefore the foul language that seeps from it.

I glare at him. "No, _you_ kissed _me_, if you need reminding," I snap, shoving past him forcefully. He rubs his shoulder lightly.

"Ow! What was that for?" I narrow my eyes, although I am still walking with my back to him.

"I don't know," I call back sweetly, "It seemed like a good idea at the time." He lets out a sigh and mutters something in audible.

Honestly.

Jerk.

My shoulder tingles, just a bit, where it touched his.

But of course, that's just left over from the force of the contact.

Not . . . you know. Our-skin-touched-and-I-knew-he-was-the-one sort of tingle.

Right.


End file.
